Bean

 Herself speaks.

Someone very close to me, whom I shall call "Anna", has a pet which, due to misfortunate misgendering of the pet at adoption and/or a foster animal of the same species in the household, had a litter of babies. SURPRISE. Tiny baby beans, they are. 

Most of the baby beans are vigorous little critters. Unfortunately, one was a runt, and did not fare well. Anna kept me updated by text, and we prepared for the worst. There was nothing that could be done. The tiny runt bean passed away. 

Anna is a very tender-hearted person. To try to help ease her pain, I let her know that I would take care of the tiny runt bean. I drove over to Anna's apartment. I could not stay long, nor give Anna the long hug that I wanted to give her, because Plague. I took away the tiny runt bean for interring in my back yard. I put the bean in a tiny box lined with faux-fur, and buried the bean behind the oak tree. I put a paving stone over the grave, so she won't be disturbed. It's a nice sheltered spot.  

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I'm not sure why this tiny runt bean broke my heart so much. Perhaps it is knowing I cannot cure Anna's heartache. Perhaps it is that terrible mental image of one tiny bean, all alone. Perhaps it is the level of Pandemic loneliness that makes this small tragedy seem nearly unbearable. Perhaps it is because I have been so busy, that I have been neglecting myself, and the tiny runt bean poked a hole in the dam holding back my own feelings. 

My heart aches.

Godspeed, tiny bean. Thank you for your time with us. However brief it was, you will not be forgotten.